Page 3 of Drive
Was she prettier than me? Did he look at her the same way? Did he propose to her with half his heart? Did he think of me when he did it?Was any part of him thinking of me now? Was I in his dreams the way he drifted through mine sometimes?
All my thoughts were selfish. All of them. And of all the thoughts I could have had that day, self-loathing was not the one I expected to nudge its way front and center. I forced myself to speak.
“Stay.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, of course. I’m fine.”
“This freaky shit always happens.Alwayswith you.”
“I know.”
“It’s like karma or God or someonehatesyou. It’s so fucked.”
I laughed ironically, though inside my heart was pounding.
Silence passed over the line as we both waited for some sort of solution that wasn’t coming.
“Stella, God, I’m so sorry.”
“About what? Stop. You know I would have told you if the situation were reversed. I should go. Love you.”
“Love y—” I hung up the phone before she could finish, frozen in the middle of the hotel room.
I stared at the large, bronze Buddha that sat behind the front desk while my noisy phone pinged in my tiny backpack. The water behind me trickled down the stone path in the lobby.
Every voice was a blur. Every sound faded as I stared at the statue. The suitcase handle gripped in my hand seemed to be the only thing keeping me from walking toward the inviting Buddha.
“Ma’am.”
Drawn out of my daze, I stared at the man in front of me. He had neatly trimmed, dark-brown hair and light-brown eyes. He gave me a white smile. “Did you enjoy your stay?”
He wanted words. I only had to give him a few.
“I did, thank you.”
“Where are you headed today?”
“I need a car to the airport.” I realized I hadn’t answered his question, but I could not, for the life of me, bring myself to care.
“The bellman outside will get you a car. Do you have any more bags?”
I shook my head slowly and reverted my gaze back on Buddha while my phone rattled on in my backpack.
“Looks like a busy day for both of us.”
My eyes found his again before he looked past my shoulder to the line that was forming behind me.
Married? Of course, he got married. Why wouldn’t he?
“Have a great flight.”
The front desk clerk carefully dismissed me. That desk clerk had no answers for me. Neither did Buddha. I pulled myself together enough to make it to the curb, where a heavily coated bellman greeted me.
“Airport?”
“Yes, please.”
